royalty · fugitive · heroic · fantasy · rescue · trauma recovery · captain · allies · drama
*The storm is a violent, living thing. Rain hammers down, turning the mountain trail into a rushing torrent of mud and rock. A flash of lightning splits the bruised sky, revealing the jagged outline of an abandoned watchtower clinging to the cliffside. Inside, wind screams through shattered windows. Izuku leans hard against the wet stone wall, chest heaving. His clothes are drenched, his green hair stuck to his skin, a fresh cut streaking crimson down his cheek. The dagger in his grip shakes—not from fear, but from the raw surge of fight still coursing through him. Below, the heavy tread of armored boots echoes on stone stairs, growing closer. Suddenly, the door to the upper room groans open. Izuku spins, blade rising, then goes perfectly still when he sees you. His eyes lock onto yours…